


cinnamon & sugar & vanilla

by astronomicallie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Party, Friendship, Hugs, M/M, Mistletoe, every lion talks at least once with special guests dorothea & lysithea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronomicallie/pseuds/astronomicallie
Summary: “I can’t believe youstilldon’t know how to wrap presents.”“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Felix grouses, shoving a small box to Sylvain. “I have skills to perfect other than gift-wrapping.”“Like what? Dagger identification?”Felix mutters something that sounds suspiciously like an insult, and Sylvain snorts.The Blue Lions throw a holiday party. It's Felix and Sylvain's first Christmas as Felix&Sylvain. Everyone has a good time.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 202





	cinnamon & sugar & vanilla

**Author's Note:**

> additional notes: alcohol shows up in this fic, and background ships include Ingrid/Dorothea, Annette/Lysithea, Dimitri/Claude, and Dedue/Ashe (if you squint)
> 
> just some holiday fluff

“I can’t believe you  _ still _ don’t know how to wrap presents.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Felix grouses, shoving a small box to Sylvain. “I have skills to perfect other than gift-wrapping.”

“Like what? Dagger identification?”

Felix mutters something that sounds suspiciously like an insult _ ,  _ and Sylvain snorts.

To be fair, they shouldn’t even be wrapping gifts anymore. They’re supposed to be getting ready to head out, but Felix just  _ had _ to come up with a few more gifts without any sort of colorful paper, and he just  _ had _ to beg Sylvain for help with it— 

(Actually, Sylvain had commandeered the wrapping paper from him, because he knows that every time Felix wraps something, the final product ends up lopsided, crumpled, and torn at the edges. And, don’t get him wrong, it’s  _ adorable _ and stupidly endearing that Felix still tries his damnedest to get it right. There’s just only so many pieces of tape a gift can have before it becomes an eyesore under the tree.)

“Whose is this?” Sylvain asks, turning over the small box (small enough to fit in his hands, though he supposes that doesn’t mean it’s small to many people) with care. 

Felix  _ hmph _ s. “Ashe. It’s a mini statuette of that one hero he loves so much, so if you would  _ please _ stop  _ flipping it around _ —”

“Hey, hey!” Sylvain lofts the box up, holding it out of Felix’s reach, much to the latter’s chagrin. “I’m not flipping it around, I’m  _ inspecting _ it.” Once Felix quits trying to bat at him like an angry cat, Sylvain brings the box down once more to set it evenly on the table, lining it up with the dotted lines on the inside of the wrapping paper. A smile plays at his lips, something wry and incapable of taming down, and it’s only a matter of time before Felix discovers it.  _ 3, 2… _

“What’s so funny?” Felix snaps, and when Sylvain looks up at him, he’s got the faintest blush on his cheeks.

“Nothing,” he says, shrugging noncommittally as he slices through the paper, averting his gaze slyly. “It’s sweet, how much you listen to us, even though you try to say you don’t. Shows how much you care.” Be it the statuette for Ashe or the perfume wrapped away somewhere for Annette ( _ Sweet, like her, _ Felix explained with little more than a shrug;  _ She was whining about her favorite going out of circulation _ ), Felix is great at picking things out for people.

Sylvain is, too, but that’s to be expected. With Felix, it’s a surprise when he proves himself to be so attentive— at least, to anyone who hasn’t known him for years like their little mismatched family has.

“Shut up,” Felix says very politely, and Sylvain doesn’t have to look up from his important wrapping duties to know that the blush has deepened. It’s the little things, the nuances to Felix that become obvious once you know him. Love him, even. 

“You know,” Sylvain says, with no intention of shutting up, “this’ll be our first Christmas together.”

Felix shifts, his chair rocking slightly with the change of weight. “I know.”

Even the quiet confirmation sends a wave of warmth through Sylvain’s chest, and he hums as he sticks tape in the right spots and ends up with yet another perfectly wrapped present. It isn’t technically their first Christmas together, but it is their first Christmas  _ Together _ , marking almost a whole year of them finally getting their shit set in order.

(He can’t wait to reenact their first kiss on New Year’s, the countdown loud in their ears, and he’ll tip Felix’s chin up with gentle fingers, leaning in so that their noses brush right before their lips do, and Felix will do that small little gasp through his nose, like he was trying to deny the inevitable, and everything will fade to them, and that, and how Sylvain only knew what love felt like when he pulled back that first time and Felix dragged him back down to breathe it into his lungs.)

“Thanks for not slapping me,” he says, soft and smitten, because he always does when he thinks about it. And Felix always responds:

“I would never.” 

Even though he  _ definitely _ would.

Felix stands to go to the fridge, and Sylvain cranes his head over the back of his own chair as he passes. “Hey. You excited?”

He gets a chaste press of warm lips against his, and: “The company’ll be good.”

* * *

Every year, their little group gets together for a holiday party before they scatter to the winds for whatever familial celebration they’re dragged into. The location is  _ supposed _ to be rotational, switching hands every year so that everyone gets a turn at playing host, but Annette and Mercedes just  _ had _ to show off the house they’re renting this year, and  _ how pretty it looks with the lights, can’t wait for u all see!! _

So this is their second year in a row, not that anyone minds— Mercedes’s holiday sweets are to die for, and Annette’s talents in decorating are unparalleled. Felix and Sylvain park further down the street than is necessary, but Sylvain gets to take one of Felix’s hands and hold it in his pocket, so that’s a bonus. There’s the barest hint of snowfall, scattering over Felix’s hair and getting caught in Sylvain’s eyelashes, and when he squeezes Felix’s hand and gets that amber-gem gaze set over a flushed red nose, he forgets all about the walk.

They’ve got a bag in each free hand, loaded with presents for everyone. Some of them are dual decisions, others are things they just couldn’t share responsibility for. Sylvain gets that— he doesn’t think Felix would want to take credit for the particularly awful pun card Dimitri’s about to get that’s signed  _ Sylvain _ in a flourishing script at the bottom. 

Mercedes and Annette have decked their house out to be one of, if not  _ the _ , prettiest on the block. Multicolored lights twinkle around the gutters of the house, spiraling up and around the porch beams, yet they don’t hold a candle to the warm light radiating from the windows. Sylvain can see the hints of a Christmas tree, dressed to the nines in lights and ornaments, no doubt.

The front door opens, letting a flood of light pool over them as they step up onto the porch. “What took you so long?” 

Sylvain grins, giving Felix’s hand another squeeze before letting it go and crooking his elbow for him to take. “You don’t want to answer to that question, Thea,” he says, devilish and snickering when he gets a scoff and rolled eyes instead. 

She cocks her hip, huffing. She has a Santa hat with a little bell at the end on her head. “You got me there, okay— get in, get in.”

As they’re ushered in, Sylvain looks up in a flash before leaning to greet Dorothea with their a kiss on the cheek, one she returns sweetly. She hums, which he assumes to mean that their tardiness has been forgiven by at least one person. “Where are our lovely hosts?”

“ _ Sylvain! Felix! _ ”

Dorothea clicks her tongue, stepping back with a jingle, and the duo have about half a second to hastily set down their bags and untangle their arms before there’s a blur of Annette trying to take the two of them down with a single hug (which, she almost does honestly— that’s how powerful she is). Felix makes a noise tossed between  _ disgruntled _ and  _ extremely fond,  _ and Sylvain feels something light, sweet, and airy fill his chest as he tries to return the hug as best he can when he’s maneuvering three people.

“Merry Christmas! Happy holidays!” Her voice rings like a bell, repeating what she no doubt has said a dozen times by now. “You two are lucky we only set out the cookies a little while ago, or they’d be  _ gone.” _

“Wouldn’t miss ‘em for the world,” Felix says, even though he doesn’t like sweets and can only really tolerate them when Annette or her girlfriend are thrusting them upon him. “Where’s Lysithea? For all we know, she could have snatched them while you were distracted—”

“Oh,  _ shut up,” _ comes the next voice, and rosy dawn eyes narrowing from where Lysithea rounds the corner. “I’m not  _ that _ bad.”

“Yeah, be nice,” Annette chimes, attempting to be stern in her tone but ruining it entirely when she gives them one more squeeze. She steps back to wrap an arm around Lysithea’s (taller) waist with the kind of ease and familiarity that can only come from actual  _ years _ of dating. They’re even in matching sweaters, the colors inverted.  _ Cute. _ “It’s Christmas, after all!”

“Not for a week yet, firecracker,” Sylvain says. It’s not like it matters anyway—  _ nothing _ can stop a little bickering in their little family. He reaches to grab his bag once more in a rustle of colorful paper. “Where do gifts go?”

“Under the tree,” Mercedes calls from what Sylvain presumes is the kitchen, back from where Lysithea apparently appeared. “You’re almost there, just make it through a few more greetings!”

Felix takes this as a challenge and hefts up his own bag, marching past Annette and Lysithea with a  _ purpose, _ and Sylvain follows dutifully. The entry hall is littered with hanging coats and mismatched shoes, and he manages to toe his off beside Felix’s before they turn and find the living room.

It’s gorgeous, as expected. Lights strung around tinsel, a tree that’s huge, colorful, and  _ heavy _ , considering how many things are hanging off it. There’s a golden lion’s head perched on top— a thrift shop find that Annette couldn’t resist sending to their group chat in utter delight with the caption,  _ Perfect, right? _

(And Ashe responded,  _ This will be a roaring party _ immediately followed by  _ I won’t apologize for the pun but I Will acknowledge it. _ )

The lion’s head has a tiny Santa hat— no doubt Mercedes’s work. If nothing else, Sylvain appreciates it.

Gifts spill out from under the tree, taking up an alarming amount of space in the living room, but there’s still a path to make it to the cozy couch and watch what appears to be the traditional yule log burning on loop on the TV. Ingrid’s curled up right by the edge, a plate with three cookies adorning it laying flat in her hand as she nibbles. She’s in the same sweater she wears every year— green, somehow the only Christmas sweater one can find that has both Christmas trees  _ and _ horses on it. “Took you long enough,” she says, moments before popping another small sugar cookie (that looks like it has a face, Sylvain will have to inspect them later) into her mouth.

“So we’ve heard,” Felix says before kneeling and unpacking his paper bag with startling efficiency. Sylvain follows suit, and hopefully that’s the last of the gifts because the poor tree can’t handle the mass of generosity forming its foundation. Their bags get set aside, perching precariously on an end table by an armchair that can’t feasibly hold anyone considering how many boxes stand around it like some haphazard moat. 

Felix stands up, dusts his hands. “Ingrid,” he says, and his hands rest on his hips in a sign that both Ingrid and Sylvain have taken to mean he’s expecting something.

“Yes?” she replies from her perch, sweet and innocent.

“Greeting time, Mercedes’s orders.”

“Hm, if only you two had shown up  _ before _ I got all comfy…”

Sylvain has the longest legs of the three of them, so he takes a mighty step over the boxes to charge her. “You’re not getting out of this, Galatea—”

She squeals (though you should never tell her that), dropping her plate of cookies on the arm of the sofa before Sylvain’s wrapping her up in his arms, hefting her out of her seat with an exaggerated noise of  _ extreme effort.  _ “Put me  _ down _ , you’re  _ cold—” _ She’s laughing too hard to finish her demands, hard enough to snort, which sends Sylvain into a laughing fit as well as he sets her down for a proper hug.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, chin resting on her head.

“Happy holidays,” she responds, and the softer tone she takes on sends a pleasant rush of love to his head. 

It isn’t the same as the love he feels when they pull apart and Felix comes over to wrap an arm around Ingrid, looking so put-upon but soft and sweet around the edges, but it’s an adjacent strand. Sylvain has discovered in the past two years that he loves  _ everyone _ here, even if it’s just a little bit, because he has too much love to just toss it all on Felix. 

He’s ecstatic that they’ve kept this tradition going every year.

“Earth to Sylvain,” Ingrid says, waving a hand in front of his face, and he blinks out of his sugar-sap reminiscing to grin at her. “I asked why you two brought enough gifts to make this look like a competition.”

“Couldn’t Felix answer that one?”

“He had the wrong answer,” Ingrid says, just as Felix says, “Because it  _ is _ a competition, and we’re winning.”

Sylvain laughs. “Okay, well, what if we just love you all that much?”

Ingrid considers this for a moment, before: “Valid.”

“Boys,” Dorothea says, the bell sounding off her approach behind them, “Mercie needs you in the kitchen.”

Sylvain takes the cue, tugging Felix along and only glancing back quick enough to see Dorothea kiss Ingrid’s nose. “They’re at ten months, right?”

Felix snorts. “Officially.”

“ _ I _ would argue they were more of a mess than we were.”

“I wouldn’t take it that far,” Felix says, though he squeezes Sylvain’s hand, and even an idiot can hear the smile in his voice.

(Were this a different point in his life, Sylvain would offer himself up as that idiot. But with all that love he has, he figures it makes sense to extend a little bit of it to himself, too.)

They slip off their coats and hang them up before moving to the kitchen, where the scent of cinnamon and sugar and vanilla is the strongest. There’s a tray of round glasses of eggnog, dashed with cinnamon across the top, next to another tray of slightly more sinister eggnog that, as Sylvain discovers when he gets a whiff, is  _ definitely _ spiked. The drink itself is no doubt a combination work from Dedue and Mercedes, but Sylvain would bet real money that Mercedes was the one to come up with the whiskey’d tray. There are cookes laid out in all kinds of different shapes and sizes— and, yes, the small sugar cookies  _ do _ have faces, in the form of reindeer and snowmen, and Sylvain is  _ delighted _ by this.

Mercedes has an apron on, dusted with who-knows-what, which she unties and hangs on a hook by the cabinet before she embraces first Felix, then Sylvain. 

“That all you needed us for?” Felix asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, no!” Mercedes gestures to a top cabinet above the counter. “We need more plates, and the nice ones are up top. If you could—”

Sylvain gets a Felix-sharp elbow in his side for that one, which… yeah, he’s the only one qualified for such a task. “Mercie, you don’t need to bust out all the glitz and glamor for us,” he says, bringing down a stack of navy blue plates graced with gold detailing. “We’re family, here.”

“And I want my family to eat on pretty plates,” Mercedes says, and Sylvain doesn’t know how she manages to make that, of all things, sound wise, but she does.

He just nods and sets the plates on the counter next to the others.

“Dimitri’s out on the back porch, I think,” Mercedes says, tapping her chin. “And Ashe and Dedue are upstairs grabbing the last of our decorations. Not that we  _ need _ the rest but—” She giggles, pleasant and radiant. “This is our new home, Annie and I figured we would go all out!”

“So you did,” Sylvain says, nodding sagely. 

“Heading upstairs,” Felix says, a glass of the definitely-spiked-eggnog in his hand, and he lifts up to press the chastest of kisses to Sylvain’s cheek. “Tell Dimitri I said hi.”

“Why do you think I’ll go out—” Sylvain turns his head, wrinkles his nose. “Hey, you’ll be here  _ all night, _ you can say hi yourself—”

And Felix kisses him again, lingering on his lips before he pulls away, unfurling something warm and sweet in Sylvain’s chest. (Something that crawls from where it’s nestled in his heart, blossoming into a blush in his cheeks, resting lightly on his tongue and begging to be heard:  _ I love y—) _ “Say hi for me,” he repeats, amusement dancing golden in his amber eyes, and then he’s turning around and going to find the stairs.

Mercedes hum sounds suspiciously like a laugh, but Sylvain doesn’t care. “Back porch?” he asks faintly, reaching to touch the ghost of Felix on his cheek like they’re back to a year ago and he’s falling apart over the simplest affections all over again.

“Mm, down the hall, out the laundry room to your last right.”

Sylvain grabs two glasses of the innocent eggnog and tries to follow her directions. Mercedes adds after him, “Bathroom’s on your first  _ left!” _

(So it is, under the stairs that Felix no doubt climbed to go see the other two. It’s a quaint little house, cozy and not too big. Thankfully they don’t have  _ that  _ many people they invited, or this place would be way too crowded.)

The laundry room is neat and tidy, smelling of detergent, which isn’t really a surprise more than it is an observation. Sylvain peers out the screen door, seeing a familiar figure under the less-vibrant Christmas lights. Dimitri has his hair tied back, and even from behind Sylvain can tell he has the  _ ugliest _ sweater on known to mankind, but he’s stopped from stepping out and teasing him when he sees the phone pressed to his ear.

Dimitri turns, catches his gaze. His eyes widen, and he gestures for Sylvain to come out before turning his attention back to the phone.

As Sylvain steps out, bracing himself against the chill because  _ dammit, he put his coat up _ , he catches the end of the conversation.

“Darling, Sylvain’s here. I’m afraid I must let you go.”

A smooth voice on the other end, words indecipherable. Dimitri smiles, eyes unfocused and lovestruck as his breath comes out in wispy puffs. “Of course. I’ll give him your regards.” A pause. “Yes, yes I know.”

A longer pause, and Dimitri’s cheeks turn rosier than the chill could ever manage on its own. “I love you too. Call you later.”

Sylvain coos and holds out a glass as Dimitri puts his phone away. “Loverboy?”

Dimitri shakes his head ruefully, snorting and taking the drink. “Claude says hello,” he says instead, but that’s enough answer for Sylvain.

“Having fun overseas?”

“‘Not as much as I would if you were with me,’” Dimitri quotes in a mimicry of Claude’s voice, smile going wistful all over again. It’s almost been two years for those two, and Sylvain used to think Dimitri was  _ way _ too lovey-dovey the longer the relationship went on, but now that he’s got Felix, he can’t imagine ever  _ not _ being so…  _ sappy.  _ “He’ll be back soon, we both know it, but I appreciate him calling to send holiday wishes our way all the same, even if he doesn’t celebrate.”

“Of course he would. I mean, a catch like you?” Sylvain turns, wraps an arm around Dimitri’s shoulders to lead him back into the house. “I’d be sending wishes every day.”

“Instead you have Felix, so you would send them every hour.”

This time, it’s Sylvain’s turn to fluster. “Damn. Well, I’m not  _ that _ bad, but yeah. Yeah.”

Dimitri laughs, and with a laugh like that, Sylvain’s pretty certain that if they ever need a Santa stand-in for whatever bullshit their family gets into, Dimitri would be the perfect choice. It’s a subtle boom, not  _ exactly _ a ho-ho-ho, but definitely a wholesome  _ ha-ha-ha _ . They have a real hug when they’re out of the cold, the snowflakes that dotted Dimitri’s hair quickly melting, and when they get back into the main hall, they hear Annette’s voice ring out once more:

“ _ Alright _ , everyone. Gift time! C’mon, there’s room for everyone!”

* * *

Turns out, ‘room for everyone’ means ‘room for people to sit on each other’s laps’. Sylvain won’t complain, even though Felix isn’t really on his lap— he’s more perched imperiously on the arm of the couch, one leg crossed over the other while he leans just close enough for Sylvain to justify his arm tossed somehow over the arm and  _ also _ around Felix’s waist. 

Ingrid and Dorothea are on the other end of the couch, the former on the latter’s lap and looking simultaneously very proud of herself and  _ embarrassed to high heaven _ . Sylvain flashes her a wink and gets a squint as a response, but he can’t do much else because Annette and Lysithea are taking up the middle because they’re the smallest couple and can actually fit in the space without being on top of each other.

Ashe, Dedue, and Dimitri are gracefully seated on the plush rug.

“So how are we doing this this time?” Mercedes asks, lighting down infinitely more gracefully beside Dimitri. They still don’t have a plan of action for the actual gift exchange, even after all these years, but that’s okay because—

“Me, me!” Annette says, jostling Sylvain beside her. “Open my gifts, so then I don’t have to worry about getting you the same thing as someone else!”

“If I get two of the same thing,” Ashe says, decked out in a cat Christmas sweater and  _ very _ serious considering (or perhaps  _ because _ ) he has a glass of that danger-eggnog beside him, “I will treasure both forever.”

So it begins.

* * *

Turns out, Ashe  _ loves _ his statuette, and Annette  _ adores _ her perfume. Both of their faces light up, voices cheerful and ecstatic as they say,  _ You remembered! _

Sylvain catches Felix’s proud, fond smile, and doesn’t think he’ll be able to get it out of his head for the rest of the night. Felix cranes his head, the creamy scent of whiskey-spiked-spiced-eggnog on his breath, stirring Sylvain’s hair when he murmurs, “Beat you.”

Sylvain scoffs and tightens his grip around Felix’s waist, effectively tugging him into his lap with a (very dignified) squawk. “Keep telling yourself that,” he hums back, perching his chin on Felix’s shoulder so he can still look at the unwrapping. 

“Ass,” Felix says. 

“Sweetheart,” Sylvain coos back, pressing a kiss to the side of Felix’s neck in a gesture that eases him just as much as it runs a shiver up his spine.

“Gross,” Dorothea declares very primly from where she’s currently aggressively cuddling Ingrid. 

(When Dedue unwraps the small, handmade set of pots Sylvain got him for his succulent growing habit, he lights up, and Dimitri laughs at the awful pun card taped to his actual gift, so Sylvain’s pretty sure he and Felix are on even ground when it comes to gift-giving this year.)

* * *

The party winds down naturally, as it always does. Their time gets spent on conversation, discussion of things that have happened that are either too boring or too important for the group chat since the last time they were all together. Sylvain is more than happy to just chat with everyone, nursing eggnog while Felix gets a pleasant, alcohol-induced flush to his face. 

Dorothea, Ingrid, and Dimitri are the first ones to leave, the latter of which will be driving the other two home because they don’t live that far away from each other, actually, and Thea whines  _ way _ too much about having to call an Uber. Next go Annette and Lysithea, only so that Annette may drive her girlfriend home. It’s a little past midnight, now, and even though he loves the company, he isn’t planning on staying up until the wee hours of the morning until New Year’s comes around again. 

He pats Felix’s side. “Babe, I can’t feel my legs.”

Felix has, for all intents and purposes, started lounging, huffing a laugh from where he’s curled up with his head propped on the couch’s arm. “Should’ve said that an hour ago.”

“Didn’t know we’d still be here an hour ago.”

“Yeah you did.”

Yeah, he did.

Dedue chuckles and Ashe snorts, and Sylvain becomes  _ very _ aware that they’re on the couch, too. Watching this banter.

“Alright,” Sylvain tries again, giving a firmer pat. “Well, we need to get home. I don’t feel like carrying your sleepy ass.”

“You love my sleepy ass.”

Once again, tipsy Felix is correct, but Sylvain isn’t going to give him that satisfaction, especially when Ashe is snickering. “Of course I do, but I doubt you want to be woken up by the cold.” (Okay, maybe a little satisfaction.)

“Mmh.” Felix stretches first, then stands, and yeah, Sylvain is aware of how much he loves his ass. His  _ everything _ , actually.

He stands, gently settles his hands on Felix’s hips to hum into his hair. “Ready to go home?”

“You’re  _ basically _ making me.”

“Okay, maybe. C’mon, let’s grab our gifts and get out of here.”

“Goodbye!” Ashe says, grinning from where he’s leaning into Dedue, a flush to rival Felix’s on his face. “Felix, I’ll be sure to send you pictures of that statue with the rest of my collection!”

“Make sure he does,” Felix says seriously, directed at Dedue.

Dedue, to his credit, nods graciously, taking the end-of-days tone the other two have adopted. “You have my word.”

Sylvain snorts.

There’s the sound of clinking from the kitchen— dishwashing, most likely. “Are you two heading out?” Mercedes calls.

“Yeah,” Sylvain responds, detaching himself from Felix to put his own coat on before he gathers their respective gifts in the huge bags they brought with them. “Thanks for having us, Mercie. The house is gorgeous!”

“Oh no you don’t,” she says, tone pleasant but words oddly menacing. Sylvain turns to see her emerge from the kitchen, a smile on her face. “You’re not leaving without another hug.”

And who is Sylvain to deny her? Especially when she smells like all the good parts about baking (and alcohol, but only a hint of that).

“Come visit more often, alright? We miss you all so much.”

“Miss you too, Mercie,” Sylvain says, warm and gooey with the sincerity laced in his words despite the fact that they all see each other much more often than they used to.

“Felix, you’re not sneaking away either—” A halfhearted grumble. “Alright, take care you two! I’ll tell Annie you said bye.”

Sylvain waves when she turns, then toes on his shoes and takes his bag to step outside. “C’mon, Fe—  _ hey—” _

Felix, though at least one and a half eggnogs in, has a  _ hell _ of a grip. He blinks, amber eyes mixing with honey. “Wait a second.”

“What’s up?”

Felix points up.

And, right, maybe Sylvain forgot about the little sprig that had him kissing Dorothea’s cheek when they first walked in. “Oh,  _ of course _ ,” he says, and sets down his bag once more. “Can’t let that slide, huh?”

“Never,” Felix says, stepping into his arms and winding his own around Sylvain’s neck. This kiss is warm, edges of sugar and cinnamon on their lips, and Sylvain pulls Felix closer, a hand playing with the downy hair on the back of his neck.

The second kiss is headier, the hint of whiskey coming through. Felix kisses lazily like this— not exactly sloppy, but slow, coaxing, stoking a low fire between them. Sylvain has learned that he loves all kisses Felix can give, but these have such an  _ ease _ to them, a gentle push and pull, that he feels like they’ve been there for hours when it has only really taken a few more moments out of their day.

He pulls back, kisses Felix’s forehead. He gets one on his nose in return. Then he’s sprinkling more over Felix’s cheeks, the corner of his mouth, until Felix starts snickering and says, “You huge  _ sap.” _

_ Who’s the one who pointed out the mistletoe? _ Sylvain  _ almost _ says, but he’s cut off by the ever-polite tone of Mercedes:

“If you two are still there when I get done with this glass, I’m kicking you out.”

That brings a whole laugh from Felix, the sound like music in the air as it mingles with Dedue’s and Ashe’s from the living room, and Sylvain is in  _ love _ , so in love—

But instead of kissing him quiet, he’ll stoop, grab his bag  _ once again, _ and take Felix’s hand, leading them out to their car to go back home, to  _ their _ home, for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays to all who celebrate!! and if you don't, i hope you still enjoyed this <3
> 
> come check me out on twitter!


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